““Don’t be tedious, Lavay. If it’s so necessary for you to know,” he said ungraciously. “She won a contest.” There was a short stunned silence. “You…played a game?” Lavay said this slow, flat incredulity, hilarity suppressed, clearly trying to picture it. “And you lost to a…girl. What manner of contest was this? Ribbon-tying?” Flint felt ridiculous now, in retrospect, which was doing nothing to settle his temper. “I challenged her to aim a dart…let’s just say it landed rather serendipitously in the right spot,” he finished curtly. “She was lucky.” “You speak metaphorically, Captain? She aimed a dart as in the vein of Cupid?””
